"Even so."
"And you lost the machine, which is somewhere in the mud at the bottom of the pond."
"Yep."
"And you'll hurry back to your friend while still wet, so he'll know that what you say is true!"
"You've got it. And that afternoon I'll bring the invention to your shop."
I. Katz, of the muddy complexion, stroked his Oriental nose and nodded approval. His comprehending eyes lingered for an instant on Luther's face with a look that indicated admiration and a friendly feeling. But the unflattering thoughts it covered were not divined by the New Englander.
It was decreed by incorruptible Fate that Luther's opportunity should come the very next morning.
Cyrus was at work in the barn. Dr. Alton, sitting just outside the door in the shade of the building, was reading a war article in a French journal that some one had sent him from Europe. Luther moved idly about, as if to pass the time. At a moment when he saw Cyrus especially absorbed in his work—inside the big iron cigar—he took up The Thing and adjusted the straps about his shoulders.